In those foggy moments before the alarm rings and consciousness reminds me of the day ahead, I listen hard for soul whispers.
It is often in the early morning when the meditations of my heart remind me I am not alone. The treasure of Psalm 127:2 becomes reality, “God gives to his beloved even in his sleep.”
A gift. A divine murmur to remind me all is well.
Such a moment happened in a recent morning as I heard a voice call my name, “Rebecca.”
It was a female voice, so perhaps its source was the nurturing comfort of the trinity’s feminine side. Or maybe an angel assigned to take care of me. Perhaps a sweet relative who has passed to glory.
Although I could not identify its owner, I knew it was no one in the realm of earth’s present. Rather, the voice traveled from eternity.
Then a touch, a stroke of my hair and the assurance of being loved – completely and forever adored by the divine One.
The rest of my day filtered through that comforting feeling of being surrounded by God’s love.
How can this happen – when eternity interrupts our life on earth and makes itself so very known we cannot ignore or deny its presence?
Is it those moments when God knows we need more than just a Bible verse to underscore Emanuel with us?
Does he long to remind us that eternity’s reality is not so far away?
We think of heaven as an ethereal universe far beyond our own galaxy, but what if it is all around us? What if we are separated only by a thin curtain between the physical and spiritual worlds?
What if God is always reaching out to us, to give a hug or stroke a fevered forehead and we’re just too focused on the now to realize he is there?
This was not the first time eternity chose to visit. A few years ago, I received word that a good friend was involved in a motorcycle accident. No helmet. Brain damage. The intensive care unit with beeping machines.
I prayed throughout the night, then somehow knew Rich had crossed over. The phone call was no surprise. Tears yet joy for the assurance that death’s sting was swallowed in victory.
Then two days later, suddenly Rich stood in my hallway. A gentle smile on his face, he wore the cowboy lariat necklace so popular in New Mexico – a coral stone set in silver, the black leather strap.
No words exchanged, but I knew he was thanking me for my prayers. And it was a token from eternity that Rich was all right, would always and forever be okay.
And then he was gone. Again.
How thin is that veil between this world and the next? It cannot be measured by our finite minds, but for me – its very transparency brings comfort.
Those we have seemed to have lost are not lost at all. They are closer than we imagine – a great cloud of witnesses cheering us on. And right there, standing with them, is the Savior of our souls – this One who dares to love us in spite of who we are or what we have done.
So I listen hard for those divine whispers and hang on to the hope that maybe I’ll hear the same voice and feel the touch again.
God is, after all, just a whisper away.